


Dear Don't Hit The Moon

by missjo



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Titanic - Freeform, Tragedy, possible major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjo/pseuds/missjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is a steward on the Titanic; Jimmy is a "lucky" working class bloke who finds his way on board. They meet, they fall in love, and then, well, you should know the plot twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April 12, 1912

**Author's Note:**

> Titanic AU. I will warn you that I can't guarantee I'll be able to follow through to the end with this and I'm not entirely sure I know what the end is, for that matter. Either way it's Titanic so it's going to end up being sad. Why does my brain do these things to me?

Thomas Barrow stood against the railing at the far end of Titanic’s D Deck and looked out over the smooth, calm ocean. When he glanced up the wide sky was littered with stars all around him. He eagerly inhaled the smoke from the cigarette he had pressed between his lips and allowed his stiff, serving posture to relax. His first day on the voyage had been a blur of meals and rich aristocrats paying him as much curiosity as they might a particularly bland vase. Thomas was bloody exhausted.

He looked up through the thick haze of smoke when he heard someone approaching. A lad a few years younger than he came into view. He was handsome with a head of blonde curls covered by a cap and the confident saunter more befitting those Thomas had served dinner than anyone who belonged on this deck. He wore no jacket or tie but he did wear a waistcoat over his roughly worn shirtsleeves that seemed to match his slightly too short trousers. Thomas couldn’t help but note that his shoes looked badly in need of polishing even in the shadows.

The smirk the lad gave him as he tilted his face up in a fashion surely meant to be imploring gave Thomas a sudden, harsh pang of desire. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat around the smoke in his lungs, hating the way his palms were beginning to break out into a sweat.

“Have a light then?” he asked in a voice much deeper than Thomas had been expecting. The husky tones filling the still night air sent a delicious thrill down Thomas’s spine.

He cleared his throat once more.

“Who’s asking?” Thomas asked the question in his clearest imitation of a first class accent. He hoped it made him sound more confident than he felt under the heady gaze of this stranger.

“Jimmy Kent. At y’service,” the lad said with a flourish and tilted his cap, an amused and cheeky grin lighting up his handsome features. “And you’re rubbish at trying to pass as a lord, y’know.”

Thomas blinked, his cigarette paused halfway on the journey to his mouth. “How’s that then?” he asked, letting the broad Yorkshire back into his speech but the stiff set of his shoulders remained.

Jimmy Kent chuckled. It was by far the loveliest sound Thomas expected to have the privilege of hearing during the voyage. Certainly better than the orchestra that had played through dinner in the dining room.

“A first class bloke wouldn’t deign to smoke all the way down ‘ere. Even if he did he wouldn’t’ve talked to the likes o’ me. A second class bloke? Perhaps. But you’re dressed much too nice for tha’. You a steward then?” The lad let his stormy blue eyes rake over Thomas as he spoke.

“Perhaps I am,” he drawled out in a way he hoped was mysterious and flicked his spent cigarette overboard. His feathers were slightly ruffled by the quick, easy way Jimmy Kent had dissected him. It made him feel rather uneasy.

The smirk returned to Jimmy Kent’s face. Thomas stuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch the dimple it made at the corner of his mouth.

“Could a steward help a poor lad such as myself with a light?” he asked cheekily. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and wiggled it.

Thomas shrugged and pulled the lighter from his pocket.

“Why not,” he mumbled and lit the flame.

The stranger placed the cigarette between his lips and leaned close to the flame until it lit. He held Thomas’s gaze throughout the entire movement with an intensity that made Thomas feel even more unsettled.

“Thank y’kindly Mr. …?” he said as he stood upright and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Er. Barrow. Thomas Barrow,” he choked out and took out another cigarette of his own, if only to have something to do with his mouth and hands.

“Thomas Barrow,” the lad repeated slowly and grinned. Thomas found he liked the way his name sounded on the other man’s lips. It filled him with a giddiness he hadn’t felt in ages. “Ta, Mr. Barrow.”

“Wait--” Thomas exclaimed as Jimmy Kent made to turn and walk away from him, possibly forever. The lad turned to look back at him with wide eyes. “Company over a cig?”

“Sure. Why not?” Jimmy Kent shrugged and shuffled over to stand next to him at the railing.

They were just close enough that Thomas could feel the heat emanating from him. The space between their bodies felt palpable with tension. Thomas swallowed and tried to ignore it. Could be the lad wasn’t feeling the same thing and it wasn’t worth the risk. Not when one was stuck on a ship with nowhere to go.

“What brings you aboard the Titanic, Mr. Barrow?” he asked after a long pause, his gaze stretched long over the ocean before them.

Thomas found himself fixated on the way the moonlight lit up the man’s sharply cut profile. He seemed much too handsome to belong in steerage. He seemed much better suited to a stage actor, perhaps, or some third son of a lord.

“Ah.” He blushed when he realized he had been asked a question and had yet to answer it. He returned his gaze to the sky. “White Star pays better n’ most. And I were sick to death of London. Thought an adventure might be a good idea.”

The image of Philip’s warm gaze on him from the summer before flashed in his mind and he closed his eyes against it. He should’ve been wise enough to know that the love of a duke was too grand a thing for the likes of him. He had hoped it would at least bring him a proper position in a grand house even if it wouldn’t bring him lasting happiness. Yet some things were not meant to be.

“Escaping a broken heart then?” Jimmy Kent’s sneering insincerity broke into his thoughts.

Thomas snorted. “Nothing so grand as that. What about you, Mr. Kent?”

The lad’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Jus’ Jimmy. Please. Me father goes by Mr. Kent,” he said with a frown and took another long drag on his cigarette. “What are all of us poor folk lookin’ for? New life, I s’pose. Better life. I rather fancy taking my chances in New York. Can’t be anything worse for me there than there was in Yorkshire.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Thomas said dryly and chanced a glance over at him. He was shocked to find that stormy blue gaze fixed firmly on him. “What did you do there?”

Jimmy shifted awkwardly and looked back over the ocean with a deeper frown. Even then he was handsome, Thomas noted wistfully.

“My parents run a shop so I helped around there. An’ I was a page boy for a house nearby for a time. Didn’t much fancy either option so I took a gamble on what little money I had and won. Used it t’buy this ticket,” he told him grimly.

“Then you seem to be a man of luck. I’m sure New York will fair well for you,” Thomas said with more fondness in his tone than he had intended. He froze and fought the heat rising on his cheeks when Jimmy glanced over at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Had he gone too far? Had he made himself known?

“Thank you, Mr. Barrow, f’saying that,” Jimmy said after a pause, his face relaxing into a shy, lopsided smile. “My family doesn’t have much faith in me. They expect me t’starve on the streets like Oliver Twist.”

Thomas smirked. “Parents are seldom right about their children anyhow; I wouldn’t listen to them.”

Jimmy took one final drag on his cigarette before pitching it into the sea. He followed it with his gaze until it was out of sight and then took a cautious step away from the railing.

“Right you are, Mr. Barrow,” he said cheekily, the same lopsided smile on his face. “I’m a bit bushed. One more for the journey?” He removed a cigarette from behind his other ear.

Thomas flicked his own cigarette over and then offered his lighter. Jimmy reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Thomas’s wrist to steady the lighter while he lit his cig. He held Thomas’s gaze throughout and then slowly let his hand drop.

Thomas watched as Jimmy swallowed and took a long, steadying breath. Perhaps there was something in this after all.

“Cheers,” Jimmy said with a grin, breaking the moment quite nicely. He tipped his cap once more and back stepped further away from him. “I hope t’see you about the boat, Mr. Barrow.”

Before Thomas could move or think of a reply Jimmy Kent had turned on his heel and hurried down the deck away from him, leaving nothing but a trail of smoke in his wake. Perhaps this voyage would prove to be an adventure after all.


	2. April 13, 1912

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A belated birthday present for Charlie who has no doubt wanted a continuation to this for awhile. In this chapter Thomas and Jimmy go to a party! It took a bit to get them there so this is longer than the first chapter.

Jimmy Kent wasn’t sure what drew him to the same place where the steward had given him a light the evening before. He wasn’t likely to find him in the same spot he’d left him, after all. More to the point, Jimmy was too frightened to properly consider why he was so eager to seek him out. The man -- Mr. Barrow -- had unsettled him somehow and also left him insatiably curious.

As expected there was no one standing by the railing when he reached it. Feeling foolish, Jimmy kicked aimlessly at the deck and made his way to a bench nearby. He lit a cigarette with a flimsy book of matches he’d managed to pick up that day and watched as the sun sank lower on the horizon.

The sky was nearly dark when he finally heard footsteps approaching. Jimmy’s stomach clenched in hopeful anticipation. After a few breathless seconds he chanced a glance at the railing.

Mr. Barrow was standing there in his crisp steward uniform, just as he had remembered him. He watched as he fished his fancy lighter out of his pocket. Then he stood on slightly unsteady legs and attempted his best saunter to where he stood.

“Fancy seeing you here again, Mr. Barrow,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone light and nonchalant.

“Mm. Chance encounter indeed,” he replied stiffly, eyeing the bench Jimmy had been sitting on.

So the man had seen him. Not so smooth after all, Jimmy Kent.

“I was sorely in need of a lighter,” he replied with a grin and took his last cigarette out of the pocket of his threadbare vest.

Mr. Barrow’s smirk was knowing as he removed his lighter from his jacket once more but he said nothing. Jimmy was eternally grateful; he hated to look a fool even if he was one.

He offered the lighter to Jimmy, no doubt intending for him to hold it for himself but Jimmy did not. Instead he gave into the same impulse he’d had last night and pressed the tips of his fingers around Mr. Barrow’s smooth, pale wrist. He could feel the man’s pulse drumming beneath his touch as he leaned in close to the flame and felt his blood warm in response.

As soon as his cigarette was properly lit Mr. Barrow yanked his wrist back. Jimmy flinched at the sudden motion and took a careful step away from him. He didn’t want to give the man an inappropriate -- and  _wrong_  -- impression.

He took a deep, comforting drag from his cigarette before he spoke. “How was the second day of the voyage f’you, then?” he asked, feeling awkward somehow.

“I spent most of my day taking care of people who likely think me part of the furniture,” Mr. Barrow replied wryly and flicked his spent cigarette off the edge.

“Glamorous then?” he chanced to ask with a cheeky grin, revelling in the way the man’s mouth morphed into a lopsided smirk. He was like a statue come to life, truly, Jimmy Kent had never seen such a man.

“Not likely,” he said with a snort and rested his elbows on the railing, his eyes focusing on the moonlight as it danced over the water. “How did you find your day at sea then?”

Mr. Barrow was asking after him --  _again_. He had finished his cigarette and was staying to ask about him. Jimmy thrilled at the thought and almost choked on his own smoke.

“It weren’t very interestin’,” Jimmy told him honestly and shrugged. “Walked the deck a few times but the view’s always the same. Played a few hands.”

“Did you win anything then?”

Jimmy had won the book of matches but he couldn’t rightly tell him that now. He blushed and looked down at the railing. “I did but it weren’t much to brag about. Not much to be had in steerage.”

“True enough.” Mr. Barrow was looking at him. No, he was studying him, more like. Jimmy wriggled uncomfortably under such rapt attention.

He couldn’t drag his cigarette out any longer so he pitched it over the side of the boat in defeat. His chest felt heavy with disappointment at the thought of leaving Mr. Barrow now that the pretense of a smoke was spent. He glanced over at him, taking in the way the night sky made shadows over his finely cut features. How anyone could think him part of the furniture was beyond Jimmy’s imaginings.

“What d’you have in store for the rest of the night, Mr. Barrow?”

The man frowned. “Goin’ back to a room full of thirty odd stewards and trying to get some sleep, I s’pose.”

His response made Jimmy feel like perhaps he had asked an odd question. He didn’t know what to say; he only knew he didn’t want him to leave. He tapped his fingers nervously on the railing and hoped for inspiration to come.

“D’you dance, Mr. Barrow?” he asked then, an idea striking him. Mr. Barrow arched one of his perfect eyebrows at that but he continued to plow onwards. “Only, I heard something about gettin’ up a party in the General Room tonight. If y’fancy it.”

He felt winded as he waited for Mr. Barrow’s response. What if it had been the wrong thing to say after all?

Mr. Barrow eyed him up and down for a lengthy moment. Jimmy felt his cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze.

“Why not,” he finally replied, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a hint of a smile.

Jimmy grinned, pleased with himself, and left the railing with a bounce in his step. “Brilliant. Come along, then, I’ll show ya how t’have fun.”

Mr. Barrow shook his head and smirked in response but he followed along. He was sure the other man could feel the nervous excitement buzzing off of him as they made their way to C Deck. Neither of them seemed to know what to talk about on their short journey and the silence formed a kind of tension between them.

It shattered as soon as they stepped through the doors and into the din of the gathering. There was a hastily thrown together band playing upbeat tunes that people were dancing to wherever they could find the space. Others were sitting on the wooden benches, drinking beer and chatting amongst themselves.

The scene was so different from their quiet talk on the deck that Jimmy found himself momentarily stunned. He blinked in the dim light and turn to his companion to try and get his bearings.

Seeing Mr. Barrow in proper lighting, however, did nothing to settle Jimmy. Though the moonlight befitted him well he was even more stunning now that Jimmy could get a good look at him. He was pale as the moon with sharp cheekbones that drew the eye to his red, wicked mouth which was currently twisted into a smug expression as he appraised the room with sharp blue eyes. For a moment Jimmy couldn’t breathe.

“‘Ello there, handsome, know how t’dance?” a high pitched feminine voice said, cleanly cutting through Jimmy’s haze.

He turned to find the owner of the voice a little older than he’d like but comely enough. “I know a step or two,” he replied cheekily and glanced over at Mr. Barrow to gauge his reaction.

Mr. Barrow gave him a look that felt like a shrug even though he hadn’t moved the stiff line of his shoulders. “I’ll secure us some beer while you show off for the lady, Jimmy,” he told him in his stiff, affected servant’s tone. Then he walked away briskly before Jimmy could use him to make any excuses.

Jimmy, at a loss, shrugged and offered his hand to the woman. She enthusiastically yanked him out onto the makeshift dance floor where she proceeded to scream in his ear throughout the entire jig and stepped on his feet more than once. When the song ended Jimmy spotted Mr. Barrow and was all too eager to make his excuses.

“You’re not bad,” Mr. Barrow told him dryly and handed him a beer when he joined him.

“No, but she was,” he replied with a grimace and wiggled his poor sore toes in his shoes before sitting down beside him. “D’you dance much, Mr. Barrow?”

“I’ve danced a few steps in my time.” His face seemed to step into and out of shadow as he spoke, which only made Jimmy more curious.

His eyes remained focused on the movements around them. Jimmy found he desperately wanted that sharp gaze on him instead; these layabouts weren’t worthy of it. He scooted closer until their thighs were pressed together. The contact felt electric. Mr. Barrow must have felt it as well; he finally turned to look at Jimmy with his eyes almost comically wide.

“Y’should show us, Mr. Barrow,” he encouraged, his knee jiggling and bumping their thighs together again and again. It was difficult to picture a man who looked as if he were cut from marble dancing. Suddenly it was something Jimmy had to see for himself.

“I doubt many would find that appropriate, Jimmy,” he told him blandly. His face returning to a blank slate.

Jimmy blushed furiously when he realized Mr. Barrow had thought he meant  _with him_. “Erm. No. But perhaps a lady--”

Mr. Barrow seemed to settle on something then. He stood and tugged Jimmy to his feet. There was nothing for it but to stumble after him, sloshing half of his beer onto the floor in the process, until they reached an abandoned, dimly lit corner of the room.

“Wha--” he blinked and watched Mr. Barrow offer him his hand.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion then. His hand looked so inviting in its crisp white glove. Jimmy quickly finished what remained of his beer. It wasn’t like dancing were anything like sodomizing, after all, he told himself. They could always pretend they were stupid with drink if they were caught. And so, feeling very brave, Jimmy took it.

“Right then,” Mr. Barrow said and cleared his throat as the band kicked off a new tune.

Mr. Barrow, being taller and broader than Jimmy, took command easily. Jimmy floundered and frowned; he were used to leading and now all of the steps were backwards. He was about to suggest a switch in roles when he misstepped and tripped over Mr. Barrow’s foot. He went flying into him with a gasp and knocked them both off balance. They crashed into the wall and Jimmy found himself pressed flush along Mr. Barrow’s broad form.

The scent of him was intoxicating; it made Jimmy’s head spin. He looked up at him, his cheeks warm, and was shocked to find blush coloring Mr. Barrow’s cheeks as well.

They remained frozen there for an unknown length of time until Mr. Barrow finally moved. He pressed the palm of one gloved hand to Jimmy’s cheek and glanced behind him briefly before leaning in to press his soft, warm mouth against his.

Perhaps it was the beer or perhaps it was the scent and feel of him, but Jimmy sank into it without thinking. He pressed back firmly, resting his hands flat against his chest for support. When Mr. Barrow’s tongue curled against his lips he parted them with a whimper. Then they were truly kissing. Jimmy’s heart pounded hard in his chest and he gripped at his jacket, tugging them closer still in desperation.

Mr. Barrow moaned quietly in response and slowly pulled away, shaking his head. “Not here,” he was saying, voice rough with what could only be desire. “It’s not safe here.”

That was when reality came crashing back in around Jimmy. He reeled back and gaped at him, trying to ignore the throbbing erection in his trousers.

“Wh-- What-- What are we doin’?”

“I believe they call it kissin,” Mr. Barrow replied. He looked so incredibly calm. Jimmy wanted to punch him.

He curled his left hand into a fist but couldn’t bring himself to throw the punch. “Must’ve been the drink,” he muttered desperately, knowing he hadn’t had nearly enough for that to be true. “Yes. I’d best go lay down.”

“Jimmy--” Mr. Barrow pleaded and took an imploring step toward him.

Panic seized in Jimmy’s chest at their proximity. “No. You stay away from me. You’re bloody queer, you are. Just-- Just--  _Stay_ ,” he commanded.

Then he turned on his heel and walked away from him in quick, measured steps. Blood was rushing in his ears as he continued to walk briskly to the cabin he was sharing with three other male passengers. It was blissfully empty. He checked to make sure Mr. Barrow hadn’t followed him. He hadn’t. He was safe. And yet the nauseating fear wouldn’t leave him.

All he could do was crawl into his bunk and desperately wait for sleep that wouldn’t come.


End file.
